


Sick Leave

by Chrissy24601



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (but not quite), Established Relationship, Fever, M/M, Medical Kink, Modern AU, Roleplay, Sick Fic, Sweet Jesus what have I done?, Temperature Play, alternative power play, porn for the sake of porn, temperature taking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2904065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrissy24601/pseuds/Chrissy24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Deep down Jean Valjean felt ashamed. Not about ‘tricking’ Javert into staying home under the pretense of feeling poorly – he was quite sure Javert knew very well that it was only a pretense – and not about teasing his dear lover to despair and then leaving him alone to stew in that sensation – it wouldn’t be the first time they teased each other in their bed play.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> <em>But he did feel ashamed about the reason he did all that.</em></p><p>  <em>It was foolish, he knew, to be ashamed of the small box he had retrieved from a rarely visited shelf in the bathroom cabinet. Yet now he sat on the edge of the bathtub with the box in his lap, a fierce heat rose to his cheeks. That heat was not unlike the hot blush on Javert’s face; the one Valjean had been so eager to attribute to a non-existent fever. Their goal was the same. The means, however…</em><br/> </p><p>Valjean harbours a secret kink he has never dared to share, especially when Javert seems so adverse to it. But now the perfect opportunity arises, it is simply too tempting not to give it a try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Leave

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to esteven for beta-ing this debauchery. Any mistakes left are mine, not hers. Yes, people speak in numerals, because 'the magic of numbers' (that will make sense in context, I promise). Oh, one more thing: since this takes place in France, all references to 'degree' means Celsius. 
> 
> And now I'm off to find a big paper bag to hide in.

Javert woke kicking off the blankets. Hot, too hot! His heart was racing, his nightshirt drenched and his long hair plastered to his face. He drew a few deep breaths to calm himself, but it did nothing. His chest felt as if it was too tight to contain his heart.

 “Jean…” He groped to his side. “Jean!”

 “Hmm?” came the drowsy reply. “Wassit?”

 Javert pushed himself up and to the edge of the mattress. “Something’s wrong with me...”

Instantly, Valjean bolted upright. “I’ll call for a doctor!”

“No, don’t.”

“But—”

“Don’t!” Javert snapped. He took another deep breath, but it only made him feel lightheaded. His heart still hammered away, but its rhythm was steady and while he _felt_ like he couldn’t breathe, neither his body nor his mind acted as if they lacked anything. But he was so hot. He was sitting in a sodden shirt in a cold room, but he was still sweating. He ran a hand over his face. Even to himself, his cheeks felt like they were burning.

“Fever,” he muttered. “That would explain…”

Valjean had crawled to Javert’s side of the bed and turned on the nightlight. “You do look flushed,” he said, still tense. “Are you sure you do not want to see a doctor?”

Javert shook his head. Fatigue, last night’s wine and the blood rushing in his ears made it hard to concentrate. He shivered when Valjean’s cold hand touched his brow.

 ”You do feel feverish. Are you in pain?”

“Arms and knees. Dull ache, nothing more. Maybe  ‘flu?”

“It is that time of year,” Valjean conceded as he got up. “I will fetch you a dry shirt, so you can go back to sleep. Sleep is the best medicine after all.”

 Javert paid no attention to his partner’s household wisdom. He felt his pulse beat in every part of his body. Too fast. Normally taking slow and deep breaths calmed it, but not this time. Of course not. If he indeed had  contracted a fever, his heart wouldn’t slow until his temperature dropped.

 When Valjean helped him peel off his shirt and gave him the dry one to put on, Javert very suddenly went cold to the bone, as if his body’s excessive heat had left him in a second. Another symptom of fevers, he recalled. Damn, but he didn’t have the time to fall ill!

“Come, you should stay warm,” Valjean said as he gently made Javert lie down on the bed. He pressed a kiss to Javert’s forehead. “Like you say, probably just a mild ‘flu, but even so, not something to neglect.” He got back into bed, too, and pulled his trembling lover closer.

Javert curled up in Valjean’s embrace. His rushing blood made him restless, but he was too tired to stay awake. Whether he wanted to or not, he drifted off as he gradually felt warmer. It even seemed that his heart was at last slowing a little. 

Throughout the night, Javert woke several times without truly sleeping in between. The covers were too warm one moment, and not warm enough the next. He turned, restless, until a touch on his neck woke him yet again.

“Hmm?”

“You do feel warm,” Valjean whispered in the darkness, “but not so feverish that it should cause this. Is dinner disagreeing with you?” 

There was that, but no. ” I don’t feel sick in any way,” Javert replied. “All I can think of...” No, that was stupid. His racing heart was nothing like a hangover! But what else could it be? “Maybe... maybe it was the wine.”

Valjean quirked a brow. “The wine? Well, you did drink far more than usual at Cosette’s party this evening. Five glasses, by my count.”

“Five! And you let me?”

“You didn’t seem to mind and you were never truly drunk, so I thought the worst you would have was a headache in the morning.”

Javert groaned. Yes, five glasses seemed about right. He’d had the first on an empty stomach, and that had given him enough of a buzz to not give a hoot about what else he had during the evening. “That strange _aperitif_ with cassis. Then white wine with the fish...”

“Two of those,” Valjean added. “And then two more from another bottle. I reckon that was a bit much.”

“Stupid… I was damn stupid to do that. And you for letting me!”

Valjean leaned back. “How so? You have had wine often enough.”

“Never three different ones in succession!” Javert groaned. Purging his stomach might have saved him from his, but having long since taught himself not to throw up if he could help it, he hadn’t. And so the alcohol had settled in his body and was wreaking havoc.

“Stupid!” he cursed himself again.

Valjean chuckled softly. “Hangover, then?”

“Sort of...” He inhaled again and curled up to Valjean’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No one is infallible. Not even the great Commandant Javert.”

Javert grunted a hoarse laugh. “I hate it when you are right.”

“Let it be, _mon cœur_. You are worked up enough already.”

Valjean gently cradled him, but just as Javert’s eyes began to droop, he snapped them open again.

“I won’t sleep,” he said with determination. “It gets worse when I sleep. The dreams...”

“Then we will stay awake,” said Valjean. “All night if need be.”

“No. I will, but not you. Don’t let me stop you from getting much-needed rest.”

“I will not let you suffer through this alone,” Valjean said as he got comfortable. “Let me take care of you in any way I can. If you fear to sleep, I will keep you awake until you do want to rest.”

Javert wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but with Valjean lying beside him, propped up on one elbow while his other hand continued to gently stroke his heated skin, Javert felt sheltered. He did drift off now and again, but every time he snapped awake again, Valjean would be there to whisper soothing words. Time passed slowly, until the faint light of morning seeped in through the curtains.

“You seem calmer now,” Valjean’s voice said in the retreating dusk. “Or are you already sleeping?”

“...no,” Javert whispered back. “But it is getting better.” He felt the soft hairs of Valjean’s white beard against his brow as a kiss ghosted over his skin.

“You still feel hot,” Valjean said. “Maybe you are running a temperature after all.”

“Maybe.”

“If so, that is not necessarily a bad thing. God knows you will not take a moment’s rest unless you are either seriously injured or feverish.”

“Hmm, true.” Much to Valjean’s dismay, Javert would not cut himself any slack without a legitimate reason, no matter how bad he felt. And a hangover, however quaint its appearance, did not constitute  a legitimate reason to call in sick. Illness, on the other hand... “You say I feel hot?”

Cool fingers strummed his cheek. “You do, and your pulse is a bit too fast to be considered normal.” A broad thumb ran slowly over his chapped lips. “Do you still have those dull aches in your limbs?”

He did, but that was mostly due to lack of sleep, as was his elevated heartrate. He’d had enough sleepless nights in his life to know the difference. But the way Valjean’s hand roamed his body told him his partner was not in the least alarmed, and so Javert did not feel guilty to admit that, yes, he was aching all over. His honesty was rewarded with gentle fingers brushing over his nipple. He drew a shaky breath at the touch.

“Oh,” said Valjean. “Burning skin, fast pulse, sore limbs and now you are gasping, too.” His lips found Javert’s. Met by a moan, his tongue briefly darted in. “Hmm, so hot,” he purred. “Yes, I’m afraid that you do indeed have something of a fever. It would be best if you stayed in bed and let me help you sweat it out.”

Javert’s conscience made one last attempt. “I—I can’t. I’ve got to—” His words dissolved in a hungry groan as the cool, calloused hand travelled down his side to rest on his hip.

“No protest _, mon cœur_ ,”Valjean chided lightly. “I will not see you patrol the streets in this state.”

That ‘this state’ was merely an odd reaction to last night’s wine ceased to be significant. Javert’s heightened heartrate rushed his blood to where it mattered and being touched was now far more important than doing his duty. Damn, but he had worked hard enough lately to have earned a little downtime, and lying in bed for a day or two while Valjean ‘cared’ for him was gaining appeal very quickly.

“Perhaps you are right. I do feel unwell,” he conceded with exaggeration, slipping into the role his partner had dealt him.

Valjean gave him a grateful smile. It was no secret between them that the rare occasion when Javert put him before work meant much to Valjean. Strong fingers stroked a few wayward hairs from Javert’s face.

“Then rest,” said Valjean softly as he pulled the blankets up to Javert’s shoulder and tucked him in. “Would you care for a light breakfast?”

“Tea and toast sounds good. Although that could wait.” Javert rubbed his pelvis against the covers.

But Valjean merely smiled again. “You should doze a bit first. You slept very poorly last night and I do not want you to exhaust yourself.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Javert’s brow and got out of bed. 

Javert let out a disappointed moan, which seemed to amuse Valjean but did not change his mind.

“Hush now and be patient. Breakfast doesn’t make itself. I will be back to check on you shortly.”

 

&&&

 

When the bedroom door had shut and Valjean’s footsteps disappeared down the stairs, Javert was left to wonder whether he had misinterpreted the situation. He had been under the firm impression that Valjean had exaggerated the supposed fever to convince his lover to stay in bed with him, and that complying would result in Valjean fucking him into the mattress, not in being left to himself with a growing hard-on!

Javert lay back and concentrated on what he felt beside said hard-on. His heart rate was elevated, but that was mostly due to the heat that had pooled between his legs. The mild headache and the soreness of his limbs were due his body not coping with short nights as well as it did when he had been younger. Last night’s stress and excessive heat had gone, he wasn’t sweating, he wasn’t nauseous, and as far as he could tell his cheeks didn’t burn the way they did when he was truly sick.

So why did Valjean jump into nurturing-mode the moment he had conceded to stay home? One of two options: either he was really falling ill but hadn’t realized, which was unlikely, or Valjean was taking it slow and drawing their game – and their pleasure – out as long as possible.

Javert smirked at himself. Two could play that game.

He reached down and pulled both woolen blankets all the way up. It would be a bit too hot, but not too badly. Just enough to make him well warm and perhaps gain the illusion of a sheen of sweat. If he was going to skip work for this, it should at least look convincing in case the station’s doctor was sent over to check his claim. Speaking of which: he should call the station first and let them know he wouldn’t be coming in today.

He hopped out of bed and searched the pockets of his trousers, which hung over the chair in the corner. His mobile was not there. Of course it wasn’t. He’d left it on the coffee table last night. Without thinking, he left the bedroom.

“Javert, what are you doing out of bed?” Valjean called up from the bottom of the stairs.

Javert froze. “I… went to get my mobile. To call the station?”

“I was just about to do that,” Valjean said, gesturing with the receiver of the landline telephone in his hand. “Get back under the covers. You are in no condition to get up.”

Javert watched as Valjean dialed a number. He didn’t move, although being barefooted and wearing only a shirt, he did shiver.

“Back into bed, I said,” Valjean berated him. Then, into the receiver: “Bonjour, this is Monsieur Valjean, calling on behalf of Commandant Javert.”

The rest of the conversation was drowned out when Javert closed the bedroom door and crawled into bed. A part of him felt ashamed for this prank, but another part of him was very happy to dive back under the covers. And it would only get better once Valjean joined him.

The muted conversation down in the hallway ended, but Valjean was not coming upstairs just yet. Javert imagined he was still making breakfast. Some nice hot tea, followed by some nice, hot touches… Valjean’s touches, he reminded himself. The thick blankets rubbed pleasantly over his groin, but he pushed his hands in the small of his back to resist the urge to touch himself. If this was to be a game, he would not cheat.

He wondered what Valjean had planned. For all his gentle manners, the old mayor could be devious between the sheets. His mind went to the cuffs that were always attached to his belt. They had been used for other than strict police purposes before. If he threatened to go to work, would Valjean chain him to the bed? Conceivably. He closed his eyes and fantasized about the things Valjean might do next. Hot under the excess covers, Javert felt his face flush readily.

He looked up when the door opened and Valjean came in. Pulling up one knees to obscure his body’s reaction, Javert glanced at the tray Valjean carried. On it were a mug of steaming tea, a plate of buttered toast and, for some reason, a small stack of washcloths. Valjean put the tray on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Did I disturb you?” he asked in the kindest of voices.

Javert, feeling caught, shook his head once. “I was… dozing a bit, as you told me to.” He watched Valjean beam at that rare instance of obedience.

“That will do you good,” the older man said as he brushed the back of his hand along the side of Javert’s face. “Hmm, it would seem your temperature is rising. Are you cold at all?”

“No,” Javert replied truthfully.

Valjean frowned briefly. “I brought you some tea and toast, as you requested. You do feel up to it?”

Javert pushed himself up to sit, only to have Valjean prop him up against the headboard instead with an admonishing ‘do not exert yourself’. Normally Valjean’s fussing annoyed him, but today he found it endearing. Perhaps because the undercurrent of frantic urgency Valjean had when he was truly worried was missing. Javert leaned back as instructed and carefully accepted the hot mug that Valjean offered him.

“Can you manage?”

“Unless I’m unconscious, I’ll feed myself,” Javert stated.

“Good.” That one word was heartfelt. Somehow Javert suspected that he had just laid out a rule in their unspoken game. A rule that Valjean approved of.

“I called the station and let them know you are ill,” Valjean said casually. “They did not see fit to send the station’s doctor over, given your reputation. They only demanded that you should call in again if you do not feel improved enough to resume work in two days.”

“I don’t expect it will come to that.”

Valjean gave him a stern look, which became an equally stern smile. “We shall see.”

“Jean, I really believe that—“

The palm on his forehead was cold. The sensation surprised him so that he gasped.

“You can go to work when I am convinced that you are well.” Valjean smirked a little. “And not a moment sooner.”

Confused, Javert nodded. He silently sipped his tea and wondered again if his impression of his own condition was so wrong, or if Valjean was playing tricks on him. He ate and drank while Valjean gave him a summary of the headlines of the morning paper. The man’s tone was calm and kind, so much so that Javert began to doubt if there was a game after all.

But when he had finished his breakfast and Valjean helped him to lie down again, broad hands stroked his body through the blankets far more than was necessary to tuck him in. And in different places, too.

“I will take very good care of you,” Valjean whispered as he caressed the covers stretched over Javert’s hips and thighs. “The very best.” Two fingers grew bolder and traced the edge of Javert’s scrotum while a warm, moist tongue licked his earlobe, making him hiss. Next Valjean framed the side of his neck, his lips laying a trail to his mouth before delving in for a long, open-mouthed kiss that left Javert short of breath.

Then Valjean sat up again and readjusted the covers. “I shall let you rest now. When I get back, we shall see how… how you are doing.”

Valjean’s faint blush was lost on Javert, who reached out to pull his lover  back into bed with him. But his hand was caught before he had a hold of Valjean’s shoulder, as he intended. A gentle kiss was pressed into his upturned palm.

“Careful. I told you not to exert yourself,” Valjean said.

“Not exert myself?” Javert muttered, guiding Valjean’s other hand to where his rigid member throbbed under the blankets. “Bit late for that now.”

“I’m sorry,” Valjean said, looking more mischievous than contrite. “I didn’t realize breakfast had been so arduous to you.” His fingers gently kneaded Javert’s flesh. “My, you are shivering! Shall I get you an extra blanket?”

“Nnngho, mnot cold,” Javert moaned when Valjean, despite his concerned remarks, didn’t stop his touches. “I want you…”

“Want me? Want me to what, _mon cœur_?”

“I want y– ooohh! You… inside…” Further words died on his lips when Valjean pressed the heel of his hand down a fraction and then tenderly kissed Javert’s brow.

“Why don’t you rest for a while? I will be busy repairing a few things, and that will take more than a few minutes. Just sleep. I will wake you when it’s time.”

“Time?” Javert moaned, again thoroughly disappointed. “Time for what?”

Valjean’s face pinked. “To find out how you are doing.”

 

&&&

 

Deep down Jean Valjean felt ashamed. Not about ‘tricking’ Javert into staying home under the pretense of feeling poorly – he was quite sure Javert knew very well that it was only a pretense – and not about teasing his dear lover to despair and then leaving him alone to stew in that sensation – it wouldn’t be the first time they teased each other in their bed play.

But he did feel ashamed about the reason he did all that.

It was foolish, he knew, to be ashamed of the small box he had retrieved from a rarely visited shelf in the bathroom cabinet. Yet now he sat on the edge of the bathtub with the box in his lap, a fierce heat rose to his cheeks. That heat was not unlike the hot blush on Javert’s face; the one Valjean had been so eager to attribute to a non-existent fever. Their goal was the same. The means, however…

He couldn’t say why he was so nervous now. They had played games like these before, each playing a role that was not their reality. They had used implements before, too: Javert’s handcuffs, belts, ties, and a drawer full of toys specifically designed for that purpose. How was this different?

It was not, his mind told him. Maybe his apprehension was due to Javert’s resistance whenever he was truly sick. Valjean loved to care for others, but when Javert most needed that care, he withdrew from it and none of Valjean’s insistence could make him accept. Suffer it, yes, but never accept. Yet last night, as many times before, Valjean had lain awake and thought about his fantasy in detail: How he would take care of Javert in the unlikely case that Javert would ever let him.

Now that moment was here, he scarcely dared to believe it, never mind act out the things he had dreamt of doing.

He opened the box and regarded its contents. At first glance it was nothing special: a small flask of cleaning alcohol from the apothecary, a half-used tube of KY jelly, and several tubular casings of various lengths and thicknesses - for the most part antiques from all over the world. The casings were carefully sorted: those marked with a red dot on one side of the divider, those with a blue dot on the other. All but two were made of metal. The clear plastic of the other two – one marked with a red sticker, one with a blue – each showed a digital clinical thermometer inside. They were relatively new, too. Battery-operated devices simply didn’t last that long. Not as long as the others.

Valjean set the box down on the widest part of the bathtub edge and carefully took out one of the metal casings. He removed the blue-tipped lid and let the slender glass instrument inside slide into his waiting palm. The metal end of the thermometer was long and narrow, shaped to fit beneath a tongue. Thinking about it was enough to feel the cold tip against the soft flesh.

His abdomen tensed and the confines of his trousers grew tight. Sensibility said it was ridiculous, but the urge was stronger than himself. He glanced at the door as if expecting someone might come in. When he saw he was alone and heard no footsteps that might mean Javert had gotten up again, he shook the thermometer down, opened his mouth and slid the tip under his tongue, which he wrapped around it as best as he could to savour the sensation.

Insane. It was insane! He knew that, but he couldn’t help it. He had felt this way ever since prison. Men packed together in close spaces where infectious diseases prevailed, fights of all kinds, accidents… In nineteen years he had ended up in the prison’s infirmary more than a handful of times. Standard procedure was to take every patient’s temperature at least three times a day and chart the readings. Back then the modern thermoscanners didn’t exist yet and the nurses there weren’t concerned with a convict’s dignity: if you were docile, they took it orally; if you were not, you got chained down and they spread your cheeks.

With the thin tube between his lips, he inspected one of the red-tipped casings. From it, he drew another glass thermometer, except its tip was a round bulb. Some of the oral ones had similar ends, too, but the red colour of the ink inside set this one aside for a far more intimate use. He recalled the first time one of these had been pressed into his opening. His nose had been broken in a fight and he could only breathe through his mouth. He was told that didn’t make for a reliable measurement, and he was turned over. At the time his face had hurt too much to care, but feeling that cold bulb slide in had been both terrifying and terrific. The first time he had laid still, focusing on that feeling rather than the pain elsewhere. When the next measurement came along a few hours later, he had squirmed a bit to keep the feeling fresh throughout the five long minutes it was supposed to stay in. The nurse had left it for two extra minutes, as punishment. He had made sure to squirm ever since.

He put the red-tipped device back into the box. Such memories made him stain the inside of his boxers. Like this, he was not going to last to do what he planned to do. His tongue still wrapped around the glass intrusion in his mouth, he locked the bathroom door, grabbed a towel, unzipped his trousers and tucked one end of the towel into his pulled-down boxer shorts.

Face flush and his hot prick straining in his hand, he looked at his watch. Almost five minutes had passed. He counted down the last thirty seconds before he took the thermometer out and read the result. 37,2°C was perfectly normal, of course, but somehow, after he had left prison and had begun taking his own temperature for pleasure, the numbers themselves gained a little magic of their own. The few times he came down with a fever, no matter how slight, he would take his temperature several times an hour and chart it, like the nurses used to. Somehow that made him feel better, even if on occasion the thin red line passed the 40°-mark and clear thinking became difficult.

Staring at the decimal marker where the blue ink had stopped, he thought of doing all this to Javert. He had spent all night dreaming of that, as he had done many times before, and knew exactly how he would trick the thermometers into displaying a fever. Whenever Javert would run a real temperature, Valjean was worried enough to content himself with the ear scanner he had used on Cosette when she was little, but this time, Javert might play along. Ah, to dab a wet cloth to his flush face and chest, to stroke him with hands made cold by running cold water over them before going in, to turn over that firm body and insert something far more subtle and slender than they normally did. To play with it, tease it in place, then take it out again, read it and have it confirm a fever well over—

“Ah!”

His legs buckled as he spent himself, seed dripping over his fingers and onto the towel.

The shame returned instantly, as it always did. He quickly cleaned himself, dumped the towel into the laundry basket and sheathed the source of his embarrassment. Then he shut the box with a thud.

But he didn’t put it away. Ashamed as he was, he might not get another chance to at least try recreating his fantasies. The worst that could happen was Javert refusing to comply, as he always did. That would be a restriction on their game, and he would have to be satisfied with feeling the man up and making him writhe with want in other ways. Then he would fill his lover with toys or fingers or his own member and pretend, like he had often done. And if he was lucky, Javert would be aroused enough to accept. That had to be worth the risk.

Valjean opened the box again and went over the plans he had made this morning while day-dreaming. For an introduction of sorts, he’d need the ear scanner. He dug it out from the regular medicine cabinet and placed it on the tray he had abandoned at the sink upon coming in. Then he removed the flask of alcohol and the KY Jelly from his box and put them on the tray, too. Next would have been washcloths, but those were already on the nightstand.

He took his time for the next step: selecting and preparing the thermometers. The digital ones would rouse no suspicions, but they were done too quickly and more difficult to tamper with. The analogue ones, however, would continue to display the same result until they were shaken down.

He let the hot tap run while he chose one of each. The slender blue one he had used on himself, and from the red side of the box, an old mercury thermometer with the largest bulb he owned. He held both under the running water and watched their columns rise: 37°, 38°… He let them go beyond the mark he had in mind, so ‘shaking them down’ lightly would result in the right reading for his purposes. His heart hammered in his throat and his prick twitched in anticipation as he put both instruments back into their casings and placed them on the tray beside the rest.

Then he let the tap run colder until the water was barely lukewarm, and filled a small bowl. He regarded the tray once more. Yes, all was set. Time to see how Javert was doing…

 

&&&

 

The first moments after Valjean had left the room had been pure torture. If not for his self-control, Javert doubted he would have been able to withstand giving himself a good tug. That one tug would have been one too many, though, so he bit down on his lip and kept still. No squirming, no rubbing against the weight of the covers. He pulled up both knees to lift the blankets from his hips and thus relieve the constant temptation.

After a few minutes of thinking about the gross details of his latest case, his need ceased to be so very urgent. His erection had subsided, although the intruding thoughts of what Valjean could be planning kept him half-hard regardless.

Discovering what Valjean was playing at was an investigation in its own right. Javert went about it as he would any other case, taking stock of the evidence at hand, pitting it against the culprit’s profile and deducing from that different plausible scenario’s before deciding which one fit best.

The evidence, however, was slim at the moment. He had little to go on beyond Valjean’s blatant teasing and a stack of washcloths. Both implied that he was going to get laid some time today, but they gave no clue about the how, never mind the when. The only other clue was Valjean implying that he was unwell and running a fever, but that might not mean anything. Valjean was always quick to worry, but by now Javert was certain that his temperature was in fact normal and that Valjean knew this too. However, with their mutual knowledge that Javert wasn’t one to skip out of work unless he had a very good medical reason, Valjean might have put on that act solely to keep him in bed while he himself was in charge. If so, it harboured no clue as to what Valjean was planning, other than the suggestion that some form of power play would be involved.

The blankets smothered him. He made to put his arms on top of the blanket, where it was cooler, but when the cool air of the bedroom caressed his heated skin, more pieces fell into place: Valjean had promised to take ‘good care’ of him, and he had been very clear that he was the one who determined if and when Javert could leave the bed.

He snorted a quiet laugh. Power play, indeed! Not the physical kind, but the kind where Valjean would not tolerate Javert’s stubbornness. That was fair. Javert knew how hardheaded he was, especially when Valjean was most concerned about him. In the past, he had more than once gone to work despite his body’s protestations, even when Valjean had begged him to stay in bed.

He thought of the look of gratitude on Valjean’s face when he had relented and promised to stay home today. Yes, it was only fair if this one time he let Valjean take care of him, as the man so often wanted to but was never allowed.

But that still gave him no conclusive evidence of how Valjean was going to take care of him. From Valjean’s repeated insistence that he had a fever, Javert concluded that he was supposed to act as if he had one – probably to legitimize his staying in bed – and was weakened or at least dependent, but not completely incapacitated.

The obedient patient, then? Well, if that was what Valjean wanted, he would do his best to comply. Despite the heat, he snuggled deeper under the blankets, pulling until they covered most of his face. If he was supposed to be feverish, he might as well make sure he was as hot as he could be and drive the point home.  

Bundled up in the covers, Javert waited for Valjean to come back. It couldn’t be long. Valjean tended to stay by his side whenever he was ill, and given the morning so far, Javert suspected his lover would stick to that routine.

Fact remained that he had slept very little last night. The heat of the blankets made him drowsy and his eyes drifted shut. Once or twice he thought he heard footsteps and jolted awake, but only at the third time, the footsteps were followed by other noises and a voice.

“Javert?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Valjean’s voice said. “This will take just a few minutes. After that you can go back to sleep if you want.”

Javert dug his head and shoulders from the sheets and blinked. He meant to say he hoped Valjean working him over would take a little longer than that, but he remembered his role just in time. Instead, he sighed and let head fall into the pillow.

“How are you feeling?” Valjean asked with mock-concern.

“Hot and cold at once,” he replied, drawing inspiration from two years ago, when he’d last come down with the ‘flu. “Legs hurt, too.”

Valjean hummed and pressed the back of his hand to Javert’s temple. “I’m not surprised,” he said, turning his hand to gently place his palm on Javert’s forehead. “You have more than a mild temperature. Small wonder you feel bad.”

Valjean’s hand felt so cold that Javert almost believed him. “I’ve had worse,” he drawled. “A few painkillers and I’ll be well enough to go to the station and get some paperwork done.” Oh, he would be the obedient patient, but not just yet. If Valjean could make him wait, he would make his lover work for his satisfaction, too.

In truth, he had expected Valjean to respond with his usual shocked expression, but not today. Today Valjean straightened the covers with a few slow strokes and gave him a smile that was both commiserate and devious at the same time.

“We shall see about that, shall we?”

Javert didn’t need to ask what he meant by that. By now he had spotted the white-and-green device that Valjean had brought with him: the thermoscanner. He hated the thing. It was uncomfortable, unreliable and above all unnecessary. What did it matter if a fever was high or not, as long as you were still thinking straight? He was no doctor, but he knew that being half-delirious with a low-grade fever was more dangerous than having a high temperature and still being lucid. Hence he’d never cared much about taking his temperature. The first few times he’d been ill while living under Valjean’s roof, he had tried to convince the man of that. He’d failed epically, for no rational reason.

As he watched Valjean put the cellular cap over the scanner’s tip, Javert couldn’t help but wonder why Valjean would bring the thing into their game in the first place. Or why Valjean took a deep breath as if gathering courage, when there was no threat of the reading shocking him. Curious…

At last Valjean looked up again. “Now, I know you hate this,” he began, running his hand up and down Javert’s side, all the way down to his hip. “I know that, but it is necessary.”

“Will this convince you that I’m fine?”

“That depends on what it tells me,” Valjean said, a the faintest tremor of his otherwise firm voice.

Javert sighed heavily. “Very well then.” He made sure to quirk his lover a teasing smile before turning his head away, willingly exposing his right ear. The hand on his side patted him.

“Thank you,” Valjean whispered.

As the tip of the scanner was pressed into his ear, Javert realised the tone of those two words was different than the others. More…genuine?

A shrill beep broke his line of thought and Valjean removed the scanner. Javert watched him frown.

“37,9? This can’t be right,” Valjean muttered, teasing tone back once more. With one hand he felt Javert’s face again, running a slow thumb across his lips, while the other turned the scanner off and put it away.

“The reading is wrong?” Javert flicked his tongue out to lick at Valjean’s thumb pad. The tiniest gasp was his reward.

“It must be,” Valjean said, swallowing hard when Javert’s lips closed around his thumb’s first digit and gently sucked it. “You… you feel much warmer than that.”

“But thermometers don’t lie, you always say.”

“Perhaps I got the angle wrong. The scanner is a bit sensitive like that.”

So Valjean reminded him whenever he used it. Any other time, Javert would have pulled up the blankets to avoid a second reading, but now, with one of Valjean’s hands trailing the special spots along his jaw and the other travelling up his torso to rub over his perked nipple, he was feeling generous.

“Then try again, if you must. Maybe in the other ear.”

Valjean’s face lit up. He quickly changed the cellular cap, while Javert turned his head the other way, nuzzling Valjean’s cool palm while the scanner was pressed into his ear canal. It stung a bit, but he didn’t comment on that. The beep went off soon enough and the sting disappeared.

Javert nipped at Valjean’s hand while studying the man’s face. Valjean gazed at the scanner’s display as if not sure what to make of it. Likely he wasn’t. Making up fake readings was not as easy as it seemed when the truth stared you in the face.

Under the blankets, Javert let his hands quest for Valjean’s thigh and began to stroke it. “What’s the verdict?” he urged.

“That you will not be going to work today, or tomorrow,” Valjean said firmly as he turned the scanner off and put it on the bedside table. He pressed his leg into Javert’s touches while tucking the covers around Javert’s shoulders. Then he leaned forward and kissed his lover’s brow. “38,5 is a definite fever. And to be honest, I’m not too confident about that second measurement either. If the first one can be so far off, this one might have come out wrong, too. I’m beginning to think you were right when you said that scanner is unreliable.”

Javert didn’t care. His mind was on the broad hand that stroked his chest and belly, touching all the tender spots with firm precision. He was rapidly approaching such arousal once more where wanted to throw the blankets back and pull Valjean close, no matter what. But that would break the game, and judging by Valjean’s delighted expression earlier, it would be cruel to stop it short. So he turned on his side, facing Valjean. Unable to reach his chest, the broad hand now stroked his back and thighs, not missing the parts of his anatomy in between. Javert moaned softly and hid his face in the pillow.

“Feeling sore?” Valjean asked without true concern.

Javert nodded. The bold caresses running over his body became bolder still. “Very sore…” he whispered, breath hitching when Valjean’s knuckles rubbed the sensitive spot were his backside met his legs. It continued its explorations while the other hand framed his forehead.

“You are very warm,” said Valjean. “I really should like to know how high your fever truly is.”

“The scanner’s unre—oh!” Strong fingers teased the back of his thighs through the blankets. “You said it’s unreliable?”

“I’m afraid it is. But there are more accurate ways to take your temperature. Two ways, actually, one more reliable than the other.”

Javert was no idiot when it came to medical procedures. “You mean…?”

Valjean nodded, face flush. “But under the circumstances, oral will do.” It was almost a question.

Javert considered this, although rational thought was getting difficult. What he really wanted was Valjean’s tongue down his throat, but since he was not likely to receive that at this stage, having something else to occupy his own tongue was a good second. But not without a fight.

He sighed, letting the tremor of his arousal seep through for dramatic effect. “Is that really necessary, Jean? I… I meant to go to the station, but the way I’m feeling now I will not. You do not need to prove to me anymore that I’m too sick to go to work.”

Valjean’s expression fell. Ah. So that was not the reason for these measurements, then.

“Monitoring a fever is important,” Valjean said, but he sounded too dejected to be playing. “I will not push you. You know I never have, but…”

‘…it is what you want,’ Javert finished in his mind. The most legitimate reason he’d heard so far. He worked one hand from the blankets and gently squeezed Valjean’s thigh.

“You know,” he began thoughtfully, “perhaps I have underestimated the medical importance of keeping tabs on a fever. The nurses did the same whenever I was in hospital, so maybe there’s a good reason to…”

Valjean’s eyes widened. “Is…is that why you hate it so? Because of how they did it in the hospital?”

Yes, he hated the obnoxious scanners they had used on him, but that was no longer what Valjean was planning on.

“I hate fussing without reliable outcomes,” Javert reasoned instead. “It serves no purpose. However, if you say another thermometer is more reliable, and if it is that important…” ‘To you’, he meant to add, but didn’t. “…perhaps you should take my temperature as you see fit.”

Green eyes brightened with delight, and Javert thought he heard a brief, needy whimper that wasn’t his. Good. That made subjecting to this worthwhile. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds coming from the bedside table while he waited for Valjean to tell him what to do.

 

&&&

 

Valjean tried to keep his hands from trembling in various excitements as he opened the blue-tipped casing and pulled the thermometer from its confines. The slender instrument looked fragile when he took it between his fingers and tilted it to check the column. He gave it two light shakes to bring it closer to the result he had decided on earlier. Then he lightly caressed Javert’s temple to get the man’s attention.

“Hmm? Should I turn over?”

Valjean smiled, face blushing. “Not for this,” he said, hoping his voice sounded steady. “You can stay as you are for now. All I need you to do is look at me, open your mouth and lift your tongue.”

Javert obeyed without argument. He looked up through heavy-lidded eyes as Valjean gently slid the thermometer’s tip between his parted lips and pressed it the hollow beneath his tongue.

“Very good. Now keep your tongue down and close your mouth, but keep your jaw slack. We wouldn’t want you to bite down and break the glass, now would we?”

Javert raised a brow and then lay his head back on the pillow, the narrow shape of the thermometer protruding from his lips. Valjean drew a shaky breath at the sight. He almost forgot to check his watch.

“It will need at least five minutes for an accurate measurement,” he said.

When Javert gave only the slightest of nods and closed his eyes again, Valjean hoped he wasn’t imposing too much. He had no doubt that Javert only consented to this because of their game, and he didn’t want his lover to suffer through his fantasies. But Javert looked even better than he had dreamed of: curled up, trembling just a little; cheeks flush against the pillow, stained red with the heat of the many covers. He reached out to rub Javert’s back and shoulder in comforting strokes, as he did in his fantasies. Except he made sure to touch on a few zones that he knew got Javert’s blood boiling with want, like the small of his back and the ridges of his hips. Not easy to find beneath so many woollen blankets, but applying enough pressure to his touches should made up for that. Indeed, a strangled moan was the result.

“Careful,” he warned. “Opening your mouth will ruin the measurement.”

A whimper like a question.

“Yes, that means no gasping, either.”

A longer, desperate whine. Valjean smirked and petted his lover’s greying hair. He knew that sound. It was the kind Javert made when they played rougher games that involved him being gagged. Valjean bit his lip at the similarity. Perhaps that was part of why he loved the oral thermometer as much as the other one: it was, effectively, a gag.

“Shh,” he hushed when Javert’s breathing quickened and long fingers dug into the pillow. “Shh, just a while longer.”

Javert’s half-open eyes glazed over, his hands disappearing beneath the covers.

“No, no. Can’t have you squirm,” Valjean chided as his knee blocked Javert from touching himself. The hands came back and clawed into the pillow again. Javert’s face had gone a darker shade of red and beads of sweat glistened at his temples while his lips obediently remained locked around the narrow instrument in his mouth.

Valjean suppressed a moan of his own. Despite his release earlier, his prick pressed hard against the zipper of his jeans again. The obligatory five minutes were long gone, but he hesitated to call them. This moment was too rare and he wanted to savour it.

On the other hand, it was only morning.

“That will do,” he said softly and carefully retrieved the thermometer from Javert’s parting lips. He pretended to ignore the frustrated groan from the pillow and held the glass instrument high to get a clear view of its reading.

“38,8,” he announced. “If there was any doubt about you going to work—“

“There isn’t,” Javert whimpered, licking his lips, eyes dark with lust. “I—I’ll do whatever you say. Please, just break this fever?”

Valjean smirked down at him. “Oh, I’m afraid it will get higher first. You are shaking and your face is burning.” He leaned over and planted a trail of kisses from his lover’s brow to the corner of his mouth. “Yes, this is by no means the end of it.”

“Ah?”

“Which is why you should rest now.”

“What? No. Valjean, no, I can’t—”

“You really should, mon cœur. I will be back in a while. If your temperature is rising as fast as I think it is, we should check it at frequent intervals to make sure how fast.”

Javert let out a shaky breath. “God, Jean, don’t leave now. I really need—“

“To go to the bathroom?” Valjean offered, anticipating on the rest of that sentence. “I believe it is a good idea to do that while you still have the strength to stand on your legs.” His hand stroked the length of Javert’s thigh for emphasis. “Shall I help you?”

“No! No, I’ll do that myself.”

“Yes, I thought so.” His smile gave his lover silent permission to see to _all_ of his needs. “Just don’t take too long, or you’ll catch a cold on top of this ‘flu.”

He continued smiling when Javert nodded meekly and lay still while he gathered his tray and carried it out of the room. Only when he had reached the bottom of the stairs did he hear hurried footsteps on the first floor landing, followed by the bathroom door being slammed shut. He had never dared to expect that his experiment would have this outcome. Then again, he suspected that Javert hadn’t, either.

 

&&&

 

Moments after locking himself up in the bathroom, Javert found himself leaning against the wall of the shower, cool water cascading down his back and washing away the sticky testament of his insufficient self-restraint. Still panting after having spent himself, he did not let go but sheltered the sensitive and still-hard flesh from the harsh beat of the shower.

How on Earth…?

What had happened was evident, but his unexpected reaction to it was less clear-cut. He had never had a medical kink of any kind; on the contrary! Yet lying in that bed, hot and bothered beneath the covers while Valjean touched him - ever so innocently, ever so tenderly and yet so very enticing…  Entertaining the thermometer had only been a concession on his part to seal what he had considered an already done deal. Actually _liking_ it had not been on his agenda.

He curled his tongue in his mouth. He could still feel the cool, hard tip press against the soft tissue beneath, the thin shape of the thermometer between his lips. The fragility of the instrument had been strangely exciting. He was used to being gagged with a gag ball or other rubber implements that filled his mouth and which he could bite on in the heat of the moment. This time he could not. Not mumble around it, not bite, not even open his mouth when Valjean brushed a particularly sensitive spot!

To be gagged by vulnerability rather than by force, that Javert had never experienced before.

Both hands against the wall, he turned his face into the spray and let the water wash the long strands of his hair from his face.

If Valjean’s promise was worth anything, he would be subjected to more measurements. And if Javert’s skill of deduction was worth the same, some of those measurements would be more intimate than this one. He shivered at the thought, while lower down, his member began to stiffen again.

After the briefest moment of hesitation, curiosity conquered pride. Javert flipped the hot tap of the shower further open and the water pouring down on him soon became scalding, just short of too hot. It heated his skin first, then his body. With that heat trapped under the covers, he would feel as woozy and hot as Valjean wished him to be.

He remained in the shower as long as he could stand it. His heart was racing, not uncomfortably but too fast to be normal, and he felt as if he had begun to sweat despite the water. He turned off the tap, quickly dried his body and his long hair until he was merely clammy, and hurried back to the bed without bothering with a nightshirt.

The sheets felt cold to the touch, but he pulled them up to his nose and waited while his excess body heat warmed them. He couldn’t explain to himself why he was playing along with Valjean’s game to such extent. It was not the nurturing that apparently got Valjean’s pulse up and he didn’t get off on being vulnerable himself, but somehow the idea of needing to be careful instead of using force enthralled him.

That and the prospect of having something repeatedly shoved inside of him.

 

&&&

 

While upstairs the faint noise of the running shower could be heard, Valjean relished his triumph. It was one moment only, but that didn’t make it small or easy. Javert never yielded to him willingly. Even when they played rough, Javert required being subdued before submitting. Even that night, years ago, he had only come away from that bridge kicking and screaming… Not so now. Javert had submitted to him, and he had loved it, possibly as much as Valjean had.

The trick was not to get too greedy now. Knowing Javert was prepared to play along, Valjean was tempted to have everything at once before his lover had a change of heart. But that would not do. He would take it slowly. Take _Javert_ slowly, drawing their game out over all of the day. Well, he would if he lasted that long himself.

“There,” he said and put down the black pen he had been using. He regarded the sheet of cross-lined paper before him with great scrutiny. On it he had drawn two lines, two axis. Along the vertical line he had written the numbers 36 to 41 at even intervals which had were adorned with little lines that divided each interval into ten even segments. The horizontal axis had been marked ‘time’, with only one mark at the very left of the line, designated as ‘9:30’. Taking a blue pen, he drew a little ‘x’ parallel to the 38,8 line on the vertical axis. Now it was truly the beginning of a chart. Valjean felt his cheeks redden once more.

 Why a chart? The little notepad on which he had written the time and the reading on the top line of a fresh page should be enough to satisfy his need to record? Ah, but this was part of his greed. The notepad he would take with him to the bedroom, but the chart was his, not to be shown even to Javert unless their game gave him reason to.

In the bathroom, the sound of running water ceased. Shortly after, he heard Javert go back to the bedroom. Valjean licked his lips. Embarrassment outweighing common sense, he placed the chart under the nearest book and went back to the kitchen counter. His tray was as he had left it, but before he went up again, some amendments would be needed.

Valjean put the thermoscanner aside. He did not expect to need it anymore, and given Javert’s resentment towards it, keeping it in sight might spoil the mood. In its stead he placed the notepad and a pen on the tray. Next he checked the other two thermometers for good measure. The red instrument’s preparation still sufficed, but even though he hadn’t shaken the oral one down after use, the blue column needed some additional nudging for the next measurement. A brief spell under the warm water tap solved that quickly enough.

Lastly, there was the bowl. The water in it had cooled to room temperature. He considered refilling it with lukewarm water, but on second thought this would do just nicely. As a finishing touch he turned the cold tap wide open and let the increasingly cold water run over his hands until they began to tingle. Then he bent over and drank from the water, making sure to let his lips get thoroughly wet and cool. At last he turned off the tap, dried his hands and his beard, and headed upstairs with the tray.

Passing the bathroom, Valjean noticed puffs of steam still billowing through the open door. A quick glance inside told him that while he had thought Javert would have taken a cold shower, the opposite was true. Remarkable. Javert loved a hot shower, but this seemed excessive even for him.

The bedroom curtains were still closed, and Javert had switched the main light off, so the room basked in a dusky glow. Valjean tiptoed inside and set the tray on the bedside table with as little sound as possible. He could hear from Javert’s breathing that the man was not asleep, but was pretending to. Valjean sat down on the mattress and turned on the bedside lamp.

If not for the bathroom-turned-sauna, he would have been worried: Javert lay sprawled on his back in the bed, damp hair crowning his flushed face while an unmistakable heat rose from the covers. Blue eyes fluttered open when Valjean put a hand on Javert’s rapidly moving flank.

“Javert? How are you feeling?”

“Worse than before,” his lover muttered in reply. “I’m hot, but I can’t stop shivering.”

Valjean put his cold palm on Javert’s sweat-sheened brow. The man hissed and pulled back a fraction.

“You are too hot by far,” said Valjean, fervently keeping the steam in the bathroom in mind. Javert must have thought the same – if opposite – of what he had been thinking when he cooled his hands. He leaned forward and kissed Javert’s temple. The skin was hot and wet under his lips, which must have felt icy to his lover. “Much too hot,” he said again. “Your fever is rising fast.”

In reply, Javert writhed under the blankets, pushing them down a fraction and revealing the bare skin of his shoulders.

“You took off your shirt?” Valjean asked.

“Soaked with sweat.” Javert ground his hips into the mattress.

“I understand.” Valjean ran the still cold back of his hand over Javert’s neck, drawing shudders from the man. “I brought compresses to cool you down,” he said as he kept stroking the warm skin beneath his hand. “But before I do that, I will need to take your temperature again.”

Javert nudged Valjean’s side with his leg. “Anything you say,” he whispered. It almost sounded like a purr.

Valjean supressed the urge to ask ‘really?’ only just in time. With a severe nod, he reached for the blue-tipped casing and produced the oral thermometer from it. He shook it once, checked the column, and shook it down once more. Satisfied, he turned to stroke Javert’s jaw.

“As before, hold it lightly, but keep it firmly under your tongue.”

 

&&&

 

Javert opened his mouth as instructed. He whimpered softly when the cold tip of the thermometer slid into place and a tap to his chin told him to close his lips.

“Five minutes,” Valjean reminded him.

He wanted to reply that he knew, but then realised that he could not speak or even mumble as long as the slight weight of the glass instrument pressed against his lips and the soft pocket beneath his tongue. Neither could he move much for fear of dislodging it and causing a misreading. So strange: any significant pressure could break the thing, and yet that was what made it strong enough to silence him and hold him in place, more so than gags or cuffs.

Valjean checked his watch and declared that two minutes had elapsed. Javert cared little. This unusual, invisible constraint that he could not fight lest he unintentionally broke it sent shivers down his spine. The shower-induced heat went to his face and his groin, making him very aware of both. A groan escaped the back of his throat as he dared to risk moving his legs a little higher beneath the covers. In response, Valjean put a broad hand on Javert’s hips.

“Keep calm, _mon cœur_. It won’t be long.” He glanced at his watch again. “A minute and a half to go.”

Javert was certain it had to be less, but what did it matter? For all he cared the measurement took ten minutes more. He made his fingers dig into the edge of the covers to keep them from wandering downwards. Valjean had made it very clear last time that this was not allowed, so he would not. But it cost effort, especially when Valjean was stroking his hips in a ‘comforting gesture’. Desperate, Javert reached for Valjean’s free hand and grasped it. The older man’s skin felt cold to him when strong fingers clasped around his.

“It will be all right,” Valjean said soothingly and kissed Javert’s hand with cold lips. “You are quite ill, it seems, but I will take care of you.” He glanced at his watch. “You are doing wonderful, _mon cœur_. Just a little longer.”

Javert fought to keep his arousal under control. Valjean was not going to let him climax, and another shower would be out of the question. He closed his eyes and pretended not to notice how he had been rendered helpless, all because of the slender glass instrument in his mouth which he was not at liberty to remove himself. He swallowed in reflex and felt the tip rub against the underside of his tongue, reminding him once more how much he was now dependant on Valjean’s decisions. Another bolt of electricity shot through his prick, making him buck against Valjean’s other hand.

“That will do,” Valjean said in his ever-kind voice.

The thermometer was pulled from his mouth and Javert gasped both in relief and regret. He swallowed hard, hoping to have the feeling renewed again, but the only feeling was a memory, while the real instrument hovered over him in Valjean’s fingers, fine glass gleaming in the bedside lamp’s meagre light.

“39,4,” Valjean announced, shaking his head as he made a note on a notepad on the tray.

Javert started despite knowing better. “But it’s been only half an hour,” he protested. “Surely it cannot—” He stopped when Valjean, against all expectations, showed him the thermometer. Javert took it from him and tilted it until he saw the blue column clearly against the scale. The little blue line ran all the way up to the fourth decimal marker after the big line marked ‘39’. He looked at Valjean.

“Maybe that shower?”

“Showers heat or cool the skin, but they do not change the core body temperature. It may explain why you have been feeling hot rather than cold despite your fever actually rising, but measurements do not lie.”

It sounded so sincere Javert that almost believed it. Only in second instance did he recall that Valjean was in fact a good liar, and that the measurement had to be fabricated. Not fake, obviously, but fabricated. With dejection that was not entirely played, Javert let himself fall back in the pillow and sighed.

“I’m very grateful that you are so cooperative,” Valjean continued as he put the thermometer back in its casing and took a washcloth from the stack on the bedside table. “A fever that rises so quickly can be dangerous and should be monitored closely.”

“So you said.”

“So I did.” He dipped the washcloth in the bowl that stood on the tray as well, and then wrung the water from it with one hand. “But you should know that if it gets much higher than this, I will need to take more accurate measurements.”

Javert hissed when the cold, wet cloth touched the side of his face and was slowly run down the planes of his brow, cheeks and jaw.

“These… these are not accurate enough?”

“Oral measurements are accurate within a few decimals, and for low-grade fevers that is enough. But if your temperature approaches 40 degrees, the mouth is no longer reliable and a… closer measurement is needed to make sure the fever is not dangerously high.”

Javert closed his eyes as the covers were turned back to expose his chest. Valjean soaked the washcloth again and, having rinsed it, proceeded to run the cold compress over Javert’s pectoral and abdominal muscles. Cold fabric brushed his nipples, making him moan with want.

“I’m… I’m not sure if it will come to that,” Valjean said at a strange tone of voice, “but if it does, I hope you will not hold it against me.”

Between the pain and pleasure of arousal-without-release mixing in his lower body, Javert found enough conscious thought to recognise a true question when it was posed to him.

“I won’t,” he whispered in reply. Seeing Valjean’s shocked expression, he grabbed the man’s hand and pressed both it and the compress it held onto his perked left nipple. His hips jolted involuntarily at the delightful sensation that caused. “Over the years I’ve allowed you – no, wanted you - to put a great many things inside of me, so it is hardly justified that I should make a fuss over this.” He grimaced, realising belatedly that he meant every word of that sentence. “Should it be necessary,” – and he knew it would - “then do what you must.”

Valjean’s look of gratitude could not have been more genuine. “Thank you, _mon amour_ ,” he said, using the term of endearment he only resorted to when all the others no longer sufficed. “I will make certain that you will be feeling better soon. I fear it will get worse first, but I promise I will help you get better.” He sounded oddly contrite, but a glance at the bulge between the man’s legs explained a great deal of that.

Javert looked at the ceiling and draped an arm over his face to hide his smirk. God, yes, this game was becoming more and more interesting by the minute.

 

&&&

 

Grateful, humbled yet hazy with surprise and disbelief, Valjean dropped the washcloth in the basin. “I… I do not think your fever is so high yet as to resort to drastic measures,” he muttered as he covered Javert’s naked torso with the blankets. At the tiniest of whines from his lover, he added: “But regular oral measurements are essential, just in case it does spike.”

That was met by a more content grunt of ‘how often?’

Valjean blushed a little, thinking of his personal measurement routine whenever he was home alone and hot for one reason or another. “I usually go with once every half hour until the temperature doesn’t climb anymore for two hours,” he said, still too dazed to think of anything else. He could swear Javert was blushing too when the man nodded, both in understanding and to give his consent. Delighted – and turned on - beyond words, Valjean smiled back. “I will be back shortly then,” he said, and kissed Javert’s still clammy forehead. If he imagined a burning heat blazing beneath his lover’s skin, the picture their game painted became very nearly real.

As Javert curled up beneath the covers again, Valjean left. He didn’t take the tray with him, and almost turned back for it. At the last moment, he didn’t. Javert must have understood by now that the thermometers were rigged. If he decided to peek at what the red-tipped instrument expected of him, Valjean would let him. It was obvious enough now that Javert was as invested in this game as he was, so there was no harm in a little preparation.

To pass the next twenty minutes and a bit, Valjean first went downstairs and retrieved the sheet of paper from where he had hidden it. He stared for a moment the cross marking the 38,8°-reading. In his mind, he saw the thermometer’s scale and the blue column contrasting against the white background. His already tight trousers grew a tad tighter still. He wouldn’t touch himself again, he decided, but even so he rubbed his groin against the corner of the kitchen table as he took the blue pen and wrote ‘10:00’ on the next line on the horizontal axis, followed that line up and, very carefully, drew a second ‘x’ where that line intersected with the one marking ’39,4’ on the vertical axis. Then, without the aid of a ruler but his hand steady despite his excitement, he connected both ‘x’’s with a thin, straight line. For reasons he could not explain, the significance of the line’s upward angle sent lightning down his legs. Still, embarrassment won out over pragmatism and he hid the sheet again before heading up the stairs.

The bathroom was no longer steaming like a Turkish bathhouse. He went in and took down his box of collectibles. Rummaging through it, it didn’t take him long to find what was on his mind. The blue-tipped casing he selected was by far the longest and thickest of them all. He had found it at an online auction, and had concluded that apparently someone in the medical profession believed that bigger was better. Not that much bigger, he thought as he removed the instrument from its casing, but big enough. He expected Javert might like it.

He ran the hot tap of the washbasin while he put the box back in its place. When the water was hot to the touch, he gave this thermometer the same treatment as he had done the other two. He decided he would not shake this down in front of Javert, as the mercury column inside was unpredictable: it could drop nothing or a full degree with one shake, and at this stage he wanted the measurements to come out exactly as he wanted them.

Once he was satisfied, he put the device back in its casing and fantasised the time away until it was a few minutes before half past ten. Then he ran the tap of the wash basin as cold as if would go and cooled his hands until they were just short of uncomfortably cold even to himself.

On cue, he re-entered the bedroom. Javert lay buried beneath the many woollen covers and only dug himself out when he heard Valjean approach. Blue eyes opened to slits that regarded him.

“Time already?” Javert asked with a faked rough edge to his voice.

“I’m afraid so,” said Valjean. “But you can keep your eyes closed if you prefer.”

Javert did exactly that as he opened his mouth just enough for Valjean to slide the thermometer in place. He relished the surprised moan when Javert felt the bulb-shaped tip, which was large by comparison to the previous one. Valjean stroked the man’s brow with one hand and his leg with the other, supposedly to comfort him.

“Shhh, I know it’s a bit bigger and heavier than the other one, but it has a bigger scale that’s easier to read.” His fingers sneaked to the inside of Javert’s thighs. The blankets kept him from exploring deeper, but his raked his knuckles under the firm prominence he encountered. Eyes still closed, Javert gasped and his lips lost grip on the thermometer. Valjean steadied it.

“Careful,” he admonished. “If you open your mouth, it will take longer to get a proper reading.” But as he spoke, he worked his knuckles again. This time Javert panted in short, shaky bursts. Valjean pressed his cold thumb to the corner of Javert’s mouth to make him close his lips again. “Oh, don’t do that, _mon cœur_. Panting will spoil the measurement for sure.”

Javert shrugged, a helpless look on his face.

“I know you cannot help it,” Valjean said benignly. “You must be feeling terrible, hot as you are.” He held his cold palm to Javert’s warm face and felt the man shiver under his touch. Lower down, his fingers traced Javert’s loins through the blankets, enticing more gasps. He said nothing, but checked his watch as he had done at the start of the measurement. Almost four minutes. He teased Javert a bit more while he watched the second hand tick the last sixty seconds away.

“There now. Let’s see.” He retrieved the thermometer and read the result.

“Is it… any good?” Javert asked, voice husky and not leaving his role as he writhed under the covers, no doubt to get their weight off his arousal.

Valjean debated the answer. He had driven the mercury up to what he wanted it to say, but given Javert’s excessive gasps, it was time to improvise.

“At 38,9, I doubt it,” he said as he shook down the mercury to hide his lie. “You are shivering the bed to pieces,” he pressed the still cold back of his hand to Javert’s neck, getting just that response, “so I cannot believe your temperature has gone down at all.”

Javert licked his lips, breathing heavily in mock-despair. “Are you sure the shower didn’t--?”

“Drive it up too high in the first place?” Valjean finished. “No, of that I am certain. You must have been breathing though your mouth even before I came in. I’m afraid...” Would he dare? “I’m afraid any oral measurements are out of the question for the next half hour. Or longer, if you keep panting the way you are now.”

 

&&&

 

Too hot and very bothered, Javert swallowed hard. Any lingering misgivings he might have had were drowned out by the raw lust pulsing through his veins. Desperate for any stimulation at all, he had to exert all his self-control not to roll over and present himself in all his eagerness, but to stay in the role Valjean needed him to play. He arched against Valjean’s cold hands as they stroked his face and neck.

“I can’t help…panting,” he gasped.

“Of course not. It is only natural response to the intense heat of your body.” Valjean’s voice sounded husky, too. “But I need you to turn on your side, with your back to me. Can you do that?”

Javert slowly did as he was told. He would anticipate on what came next, but he resisted the urge and waited for Valjean’s instructions instead. That was, after all, what an obedient patient did.

Naked but for his boxers, the cool air blowing in when Valjean lifted the covers made him shiver in earnest. A cold hand stroked his thigh.

“Pull up this leg a little. Yes, like that.”

“You don’t want me on my stomach?” Javert asked uncertainly.

“This is better,” Valjean said. “This way I can reach and still put the blankets back so you do not get cold while the thermometer takes its reading. Now, lift your hips a little for me.”

They did so off their own accord, of that Javert was certain. Cold fingers slid under the waistband of his boxers and gently pulled them down over his buttocks. His rigid prick got caught in the folds at the front, but while that stung a little, he didn’t free it. The mild discomfort might be enough to keep from spilling himself too soon.

“So beautiful…” he heard Valjean mutter as a rapidly warming palm stroked the curves over his backside. Then he heard the sound of something hard scraping over the tray on the nightstand and the tingle of metal against glass. “It is often more comfortable to lubricate the tip, but since you have been sweating so much, I do not believe that is necessary.”

More like he was used to receiving Valjean massive member instead. That needed lubrication, yes, but a slender glass rod…

The covers were lifted a little higher, and Javert stared at the opposite wall in anticipation. He gasped and jerked a little when cool fingers parted his buttocks. Moments later, a small, firm bulb traced the muscle of his entrance. He was pleasantly surprised at how familiar this unfamiliar sensation felt. He could feel how Valjean found the exact centre of his opening and slowly, very slowly, pushed the thermometer inside of him. He whimpered.

“Easy now,” cooed Valjean. “There, that should be deep enough.”

The fingers on his buttocks left and the cover was draped back into place. Valjean leaned over and kissed his temple.

“Very good, _mon cœur_. Is it not too uncomfortable?”

Javert bit on his lips as he shook his head. He tightened his pelvic muscles, feeling how his sphincter clenched around the glass intrusion again and again. Too quickly his body adjusted to the minimal penetration, and he squirmed in order to revive the feeling.

“You must lie still,” Valjean admonished sternly while his hand dove under the covers, supposedly to affirm if the thermometer was still in place. He touched the device and Javert gasped loudly at the renewed sensation inside of him.

“Five… five minutes of this?”

“You must be patient, I’m afraid,” Valjean replied. “Only two minutes have passed, I think, and it is better to err on the side of caution.” 

Javert nodded, always one to play by the rules. But his prick strained with need and the way Valjean pulled the thermometer out a fraction only to push it back in, possibly deeper than before, he panted more and more to keep his head screwed on straight.

“Jean, I don’t think--!”

At once, Valjean stopped toying with the device and smoothed the covers back in place. “Just bear with me a little longer.”

Javert in his turn did all he could to indeed lie still and not clench his sphincter around the glass rod inside of him. He was shaking with effort.

“The five minutes are done,” Valjean announced at last, “but seeing you tremble and shiver so, perhaps it is best to leave it in a little longer.”

The sweat beading on Javert’s forehead was real by now. Heeding the constraint that the vulnerable glass subjected him to, he lay unmoving but for the tremors of desire that raked his body. He wanted Valjean to take him so badly it hurt. But that was the game. Like he wanted Valjean when he was tied up and couldn’t touch his lover, he now had to endure his burning arousal until Valjean allowed him release.

At last the covers were lifted and cold air cooled his sweaty back. Valjean’s strong fingers parted his cheeks once more and, as slowly as it had moved it, pulled the thermometer from his body. When the covers’ warmth returned, he didn’t have the strength to pull up his boxers before turning onto his back to see Valjean’s face.

“Oh my,” the older man said as he wiped the thermometer with a washcloth that reeked of alcohol.

“...what does it say?” Javert asked, knowing he was supposed to and wanting to know what was expected of him next.

Valjean said nothing. He made another note on the notepad and reached for the soaked washcloth in the basin. Having rinsed it, he placed it carefully on Javert’s forehead. It was unpleasantly cold to his heated face, and Javert made a show of shivering.

“Valjean…?”

“39,7,” Valjean said, but the concern that such a high fever would normally instil in him was nowhere to be found. Instead, the man pressed one hand between his own legs before remembering himself and straightening up. “It seems your fever is indeed still climbing. That is worrisome.”

With the heat taking over his body, Javert was very inclined to agree that further measurements were an absolute necessity. “You could leave it in, and check every now and again if it keeps rising,” he wheezed, astonishing himself so much that he blushed.

Valjean visibly bit the inside of his mouth. “Much as I would want that, it is not safe. Your fever is so high it may cause delirium. If you would forget yourself and turn over, you would get hurt. I cannot take that risk. No…. No, increasing the frequency of the measurements will have to suffice. I, eh, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

 

&&&

 

Valjean remembered to take the tray this time. He hurried down the stair, heart pounding in his throat and in his throbbing member. In the kitchen, he splashed cold water in his face until his mind cleared.

“By God…”

It made no sense that this simple ministration should arouse him so, but it did. Without fail. He was ashamed to admit that if Javert had been actually ill and the reading for real, his body would have responded in the same way. Not his mind, which would be worried to the high heavens, but his prick would swell and tremble as it did now. Especially knowing that Javert surrendered to him like this.

His hand cupped his thick member through his jeans and squeezed gently. It was all he could do to let go, yet as he pulled out his graph again and marked the latest result as the 10:30 reading, he wondered how long he could last. And Javert was in no better shape, either.

However Valjean turned it, the next measurement was going to see them both at a loss. A pity, so early in the day. Ah, but Javert’s two-day ‘sick leave’ had only just begun, and Valjean was certain his dear commandant would consider it cheating if he was permitted to leave the bed after only a few hours. Besides, they had agreed that this fake fever wouldn’t break until Valjean decided so.

A brief spell under the hot tap nudged the rectal thermometer up further, and a careful shake brought it down to where Valjean wanted it. He stared at the metallic line against the instrument’s scale and made a soft, wanton sound. The magic of numbers… He could fill in the next reading on his chart ahead of time, but that would be cheating, too. So he put the thermometer back in its casing and glanced at the clock.

He would not wait a full half hour this time. He would go up in another five, just in case Javert had trouble keeping his hands in check and anywhere but on himself. Until then, he would have to wait.

Valjean paced up and down the kitchen with his hands behind his back. Rigging the readings lessened the anticipation he always felt when taking a real one – even if the outcome was likely to be around 37° – but knowing it would confirm the justification of Javert’s naked body sweating under the covers, his confused glances and desperate moans… Valjean shuddered. He thought of how he would drive Javert to that justification, what he would do to pleasure his lover.

For a moment, he entertained the thought of using both thermometers at once, pinning Javert to the bed with both an oral and a rectal measurement that would render the man unable to move at all. He blushed to think of the sight that would make. Better still than tying his lover up, yet just as effective. And he could easily rig both to show readings within a few decimals of each other. That was the normal deviation, after all.

But at the very last moment, he decided against setting up that fantasy. Given how Javert had squirmed, he didn’t trust his lover not to bite on fragile glass. Perhaps he could do that at a later stage, using the sturdier digital blue-tip for the oral measurement, and maybe using other restraints as well. Oh dear, now that would be something…

Realising the time, Valjean cooled his hands, gathered the prepared tray and carried it back up the stairs once more. In a hunch, he darted into the bathroom, pinched something from the medicine cabinet, and went on his way.

In the bed, Javert lay on his back, covers tenting over his knees and both arms above his head while he stared at the ceiling. Valjean sat down beside him.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, intentionally making it a double question that Javert could answer both inside and outside of their game.

Javert shivered. “Terrible,” he said, but his tone of voice was not serious. “I’m still cold and hot at the same time, and everything aches. Mostly my legs and my pelvis.”

Valjean tentatively pressed the taut blankets down to examine Javert’s pelvic region. The cause of his lover’s discomfort was evident and of considerable length and girth. He smiled.

“A common symptom in the ‘flu,” he said, running his once more cold fingers over Javert’s half-exposed chest. Javert hissed in response. “As is a high fever. Considering both, I cannot but conclude that you are felled by a bout of ‘flu. No cure for that but to ride it out, which may take days.”

“Days? Jean, I love you, but I can’t last days!”

Valjean smirked and cherished the rare declaration Javert had left escape in his despair.

“It wouldn’t be healthy to,” he said kindly. “So I have brought a fever suppressant for you. It will not last long, but it will give you a few hours’ sleep before it stops working and the fever comes back again.”

The look on Javert’s face was one of quick calculation. “So… you will break the fever?”

“For as long as that lasts, yes.”

Calculation became understanding. And a very tiny grin. “Then will you give it to me?”

“In a minute,” said Valjean as he took out the rectal thermometer. “Or rather, in a few minutes. I first want to check your temperature without the influence of the medication.”

Javert shuddered and nodded. “On my side again?”

“Or on your stomach, if you prefer.”

“Yes, but the sheets—”

“Ah of course.”

Valjean retrieved a clean, dry washcloth from the stack and tucked back the covers from Javert’s lower body. Unabashedly, he tugged the clammy boxers from the primed cock and then all the way off.

“Valjean, what are you planning?”

“A simple but effective solution,” he said. “’Turn onto your stomach. I will put this beneath you, so you will not have to worry about a thing.”

Javert did as he was told, and Valjean slipped the washcloth under Javert’s already leaking member. Then he pulled the blankets so that Javert was covered and warm but for one leg and his backside.

“Would you like me to apply the lubricant?” he asked as he took out the thermometer. Javert grunted into his pillow, a sound akin to ‘don’t bother’. Pleased, Valjean put his hand on his lover’s buttocks. Javert winced to the cold touch.

“Good. Now lie perfectly still for me.”

He parted Javert’s cheeks with one hand, thermometer in the other. Exposed like this, Valjean got a good view of Javert’s opening, and casually teased the glass bulb along it until he heard  a few moans. Satisfied so far, he aimed the bulb with great precision and gently pressed. He took his time, resting the broadest part of the bulb right on the ring of muscle that tightened around it. He retrieved it under the guise of ‘getting a better angle’ and then pressed it in again, just as slowly but a fraction further. Javert bucked slightly, but the whimper from the pillow assured Valjean to continue. He pushed the instrument in another inch and then let go of Javert’s cheeks. But he left one hand in place, cupped over Javert’s backside with the thermometer protruding between two fingers.

“You are being very good, _mon cœur_. I know these measurements are a hassle, but one cannot be too careful with the ‘flu.”

A horny groan was the answer. Beneath his hand, Javert squirmed.

“I’m sorry to have to resort to this,” said Valjean, not in the least sorry at all. He tapped a finger against the rod, making Javert squirm harder. “If I could make it easier for you, I would,” another tap and a muffled moan this time, “but you have seen yourself how unpleasant and inaccurate the ear scanner is, and a digital thermometer is not much more reliable.” Another tap. “Electronics, you see.”

Javert came up for air. “How long?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Nearly two minutes and you are…” he twisted the thermometer in place, making Javert gasp and whimper “… up to 38,5 now.”

Javert buried his face again, but Valjean felt how he began to rut into the mattress. That was to be expected and Valjean pretended he didn’t notice. By now his free hand had found its way between his own legs and his wrist pressed hard against his own arousal. He twisted the thermometer again, earning him a sudden gasp, and pulled it out a fraction before pressing it in again.

“Three and a half minutes, and it reads 39,6 already,” he announced without looking as he continued to move the thermometer in and out, essentially fucking Javert with it. “You really are far too hot for your own good.”

Javert no longer made any recognisable sounds. His breathing sped up and his whines pitched as they did when he was close to climaxing. Where he sat, Valjean squeezed his knees, trapping his arm against his scrotum as he, too, was reaching  the point of no return. With his other hand, he still teased the thermometer inside Javert, now pulling it out so far the bulb rubbed against the inside of the sensitive sphincter before plunging it back in at least two inches, aided by the no longer subtle movements of Javert’s hips. Again and again. By the headboard, long fingers clawed into the mattress for support.

“God, Jean! I think I---I---!”

The rest was a scream that the pillow only partially muffled. Valjean bit the inside of his lip when he heard it. He kept the glass rod stable as Javert thrust his release into the bed. Only when the ragged breathing had calmed and his lover’s body relaxed, did Valjean pull the thermometer out all the way.

While his trapped hand pressed harder, he tilted the instrument to the light. He knew what it would say, but he relished the moment. The magic of numbers. He still could not explain it, but as his eyes travelled over the scale to follow the red line from the tip up along the column, his prick jerked every time the mercury crossed another major marker. 37,5°- his mouth salivated. 38° – he grabbed himself through his trousers and squeezed harder. 38,5° - his heart hammered in his throat. 39° - his trousers got too tight for comfort and he bucked into his own hand. 39,5° - God, he would burst from his skin soon if he didn’t—

At the next marker, he lost it. No sound passed his lips, but a might shudder wreaked his big frame. Only years of careful constraint prevented his fingers from breaking the slender glass he held.

When he dared to trust his voice again, he looked at Javert, who hadn’t moved but looked thoroughly sated.

“…40,1,” Valjean read out loud from the scale. “A fever suppressant is definitely in order.”

Javert murmured. “Hmmm, you don’t think my temperature will go down after this spike?”

Valjean shook his head. “I’m certain it will not. A ‘flu lasts days, remember? At least two, anyway.” It was a long shot. Having brought this to a conclusion, there was no saying if Javert wanted to continue to play. But his lover grinned.

“I suppose I have no choice but to trust your knowledge of these things,” Javert said, making no attempt to get up. “But I would like to sleep for a while before… Well, before you start taking my temperature again.”

His heart full of gratitude, Valjean smiled. “That is what the suppressant is for.” He took a small white plastic package from the tray and peeled it open. A white, torpedo-shaped pill appeared.

“Valjean—”

“If it does no good, it does no harm,” Valjean said, cutting off Javert’s argument. “Just lie still. You will hardly feel it.”

To his surprise, Javert complied even with this. He spread his legs a little more to give Valjean full access. Valjean positioned the suppository and pressed it in deeply; so deep that his second knuckle of his middle finger brushed Javert’s muscle. He stayed his hand for as long as he dared, moving his finger marginally in and out while declaring that was necessary to ensure the pill was properly inserted. Judging by Javert’s moans, his lover had no complaints.

“Now sleep,” said Valjean as he removed the stained washcloth from under Javert’s hips and tucked the covers around his body. “The effect of the medication should last a couple of hours at least. I will wake you at one in the afternoon for a light lunch, but if you begin to feel feverish again before then, all you need to do it call me.”

Javert nodded. “You know, it's true I never stay home from work unless I’m quite ill,” he said with a sly smile. “So I suspect my temperature will soar more than once before the fever breaks, won’t it?”

Valjean swallowed hard. “That is… very likely.” The image of the double measurement sprung to mind. “And if it does—”

“When,” Javert corrected.

“— _when_ it does, more measurements will be necessary. And I’m afraid I cannot permit you to leave the bed for more than a quick trip to the bathroom until I'm convinced you are truly better.”

Javert smiled lazily. “Good,” he muttered and cuddled up. “Some tea would be nice, though…”

“Then I will get you some, _mon amour_.” And then a shower, to get clean and to plan the rest of his fantasies for the next two days.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If any of you made it this far: thank you. I hope I did not mentally scar you, and I promise I'll get right back to writing _decent_ fics again!


End file.
